


the kind of once in our lives

by bonebo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drinking, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 20:53:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9289187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: He's too regal for this place, Jesse thinks--but damn, if he isn't happy to see him.





	

The bar is warm and noisy, the perfect kind of busy that Jesse can let himself get lost in--has let himself get lost in, stuck moping and lonely, until he catches a glimpse of that familiar stature and not-so-familiar piercings shifting through the crowd.

Hanzo drops down onto the stool beside him, one brow raised at the way Jesse is all but sprawled across the bar; a comically exaggerated barfly, buzzing around until someone shows up to drag him home. Between his perfect posture and regal profile, he’s too elegant for this place, Jesse thinks--sticks out like a sore thumb amid the other poor, wretched fools here.

But damn if Jesse isn’t happy to see him.

“Hanzo…” Jesse sighs the name, letting his head rest on his stacked arms and gazing at Hanzo warmly, trying to memorize every sharp line and hard angle of his face. He tells himself that if he can burn it into his memory, see the soft curves of Hanzo’s fleeting smile when he closes his eyes, then no matter how far away they ever are he’d never be alone. “Darlin’, lemme tell you...if you were a whiskey, I’d be a damn drunk.”

Hanzo blinks at him, then, as if surprised--laughs, soft and merry, and it makes Jesse tingle from his head to his toes because Hanzo’s laughs are always hard-earned, rare to come by, but all the more treasured for it. Hanzo rests his chin in one hand, mouth quirked in a half-smile as he holds Jesse’s gaze and says fondly, “Jesse...you _are_ a drunk. You’re drunk right now.” 

“...oh.” The empty shot glass sits beside him, dregs of liquid amber pooled at the bottom and proof enough of Hanzo’s words, as if the buzzing in his veins wasn’t. “S’pose you’re right.” Jesse grins at him, at the returning chuckle his comment earns, and leans in to peck a kiss against Hanzo’s cheek--it’s too wet, he knows, and clumsy, but Hanzo smiles at it all the same. Like he’s reveling in their rough edges and broken tropes, the perfect imperfection of them.

It makes Jesse warm inside like the strongest bourbon never could.

“Well then, sugar…” Jesse straightens up, tries to make himself as presentable as he can, but his grin is still lopsided as he says, “I reckon you’re just fine the way you are.”

Perfectly imperfect. Hanzo shakes his head and rolls his eyes, the faintest hint of color dusting over his cheeks as his smile grows; and Jesse swears that he’s never loved anyone more.

Just fine, the way they are.


End file.
